Poison in the Fire
by TurtlesAndCanada
Summary: Maybe they were brothers. But that didn't stop the flames. And maybe they didn't really know why they were fighting. But the poison still ran like water between them. Because in the end, they both lost something precious, but one found a reason to fight. Family. War of 1812 fic.


**Hello! This is a War of 1812 fanfic, one that currently goes with another story I'm writing, ****Sins and Tragedies****! This can stand by itself, however, so please enjoy!**

**XXX**

"Do you feel betrayed, Canada? You shouldn't. You brought this upon yourself when you walked away from me, like the traitor you are." America sneers down at Canada, his eyes raking perversely over his brother's body. Purple bruises bloom like sickening flowers on Canada's body, the first of many scars to come.

Canada spits at America from his position on the ground. He was bloody and beaten; America had ambushed him, using his super strength to pin him to the ground. Canada was sure both his legs were broken. Now his Southern brother stood over him, leering in his victory.

For the first time in his life, Canada is completely disgusted with his twin.

America digs the heel of his foot onto his brothers chest, scowling. "That wasn't very smart, _brother_." He grins suddenly, madness gleaming. "Why don't you tell me how it feels, Mattie?" He hisses, pressing his foot down harder, harder. He hears the satisfying sound of ribs cracking. "You told me I couldn't make you powerful. That I was selfish and you were happy with England." He spits out the name of his former caretaker.

"Are you happy?" He punctuates this with a kick. The screams of his brother are music to his ears.

"Are you strong?" Another kick, this time to the face. Canada can feel almost slip into unconsciousness. He reaches toward the darkness, pleading-

"Nu-uh." America is leaning over him, and slaps him again. "Can't have you miss the fireworks, Mattie." Canada's eyes widen in fear.

"W-what?" Canada croaks out. His voice is hoarse from screaming for help. No one came. No one cares enough to check on the voice of a screaming boy. Because that's what he is; a boy. He's not even his own Nation yet, just a British Dominion, he can't fight his brother! He can't wait for England, who he knows isn't coming.

What a surprise.

America grins widely, and it's almost the brother he had, the one he looked up to. Then he speaks.

"You broke my heart, so I'm gonna burn yours." And Canada can see it, the smoke, trees burning.

"No," He sobs, "please! You aren't doing this for me, it's because of England, right? I love you, Al, aren't we brothers? Don't do this! You're better than this. I want to be strong, but you'd kill me! I'm sorry I didn't join you, but you just want power, not me. Please, stop the flames! We don't have to fight!" Fire licks at the edges of York, and Canada gasps, back arching off the ground, his broken ribs screaming in protest. "NO! PLEASE STOP!"

And America almost does stop, almost calls to his men and tells them to put the fire out, spare his brother, who's just a kid. But then he remembers Canada- no, _Matthew_ refusing him. _Matthew_ who could make a decision for himself and his country, _Matthew_ who could see right through him, see past charming smiles and bright blue eyes to the greedy, power-hungry, Nation that America wishes he wasn't.

"No."

The fire roars, reaching high into the night sky, a destructive parody of the Sun, bright, blazing, and hungry. It devours everything it touches, kills everything flammable and spites what it's heat can't touch. It's the perfect irony; the fire that kills his brother is just like him.

Canada howls, clawing at his chest, where his skin bubbles, the sickly sweet aroma of burning flesh filling the air. Fire simmers under his skin, curling around his heart. It's a horribly beautiful sight; America can see the glow of flames under Canada's pale skin, how they twist and turn like a snake, crimson flowers inside him. He watches as the fire finally grasps his Northern twin's heart, and Canada cries like a banshee, all anguish and pain, his body convulsing wildly as it tries to fight a devil inside it.

America can only wonder why his brother has to be lovely in everything he does, even burning.

Canada writhes on the ground, the pain like nothing he has ever known. He sobs. he pleads. He begs. He screams and howls, all as his heart is scorched like a worthless piece of meat. That's what he feels like; a chunk of flesh, made only to burn, to be turned black. The deadly inferno rolls around his heart, taunting, lapping at him then pulling back, dragging out his agony as long as possible. It is unimaginable cruelty, the kind only Nations could create, and as Canada's heart was burnt to a crisp, Matthew could feel his innocence crumble as well.

"Mattie..." His eyes snap open and he stares at America, who stumbles back.

Matthew's eyes are the color of liquid poison and though America is the one standing, the one who conquered, he can feel himself tremble. How can he be afraid of the brother who he defeated? The one who burns?

Pride rips through any regret he had and the pity evaporates.

Baby blues narrowed, devoid of mercy. "Does it feel like hell? Do you regret abandoning me for England?" He taunts his brother and he knows that this is past the point of revenge, that this is pure unadulterated fury and hurt spilling from his mouth. "Come to think of it, where _is_ ol' Eyebrows? I thought he was gonna make you strong. Last I heard, he's back in his own country, not giving a damn about you.

"Is that what you call making you happy? Leaving you alone, forgetting you? I would never have done that," America spat, and Matthew can see Alfred is bleeding through. America is enraged by Canada refusing him, but Alfred feels betrayed.

"I would have cared about you, worked with you, saved you from that English bastard! But you didn't want that. You said you wanted me to leave you alone. So that's what'll do." Alfred bent down so that he was looking tear streaked Matthew in the face, betrayal and rage darkening his eyes.

"I'm going to leave you here alone to burn. No one will find you because no one cares but me. But you don't want me, _do you_?" He hisses. "No, you want _England_ or _France_, but neither of them are coming." America straightens and smirks at his twin. "You can stay here and die for all I care. Be forgotten. I won't find you and no one else will ever even try." Matthew tries to growl at the American but it comes out as a small whimper.

America laughs, loud and boisterous, just like Alfred, and strides off into the flames, to kill and loot like his soldiers. Still taunting his brother, he calls over his shoulder, "Bye, Mattie! Hope you like it in purgatory!"

Matthew continues to burn for hours, solitary in his torment. America may have left, but the flames under his skin still dance, performing until they reach their crescendo, his body the ultimate stage. Just as he slips into blissful unconsciousness, a small figure hurries over to him, hazel-gold eyes eyes wide and innocent, as the child murmurs a single question.

"Canada?"

**XXX**

"Is it Hell? It should be. Like Hell, right under your skin, isn't it?" Canada squats next to America's body, watches as fire dances in his brother's body. He wonders if the flames looked so terribly magnificent on him too.

"Help..." America sobs, and Canada laughs, but there is no humour. Slowly, he unbuttons his shirt, a small smile on his pretty features.

His chest is covered in yellowing bruises, ugly browns and nasty purples. But where his heart is there is a single, bright red scar, the shape of a wild flame. Through the haze of pain, America sluggishly takes in his brother's body.

"Funny thing," Canada says, almost bored, "you go through all that pain and the end, the only thing that's going to last is this scar. The bruises will go away eventually."

America screams.

Canada giggles. What America had done to him was unbelievable, but now he was giddy, seeing his brother in such intense pain. Matthew had taken the cruelty Al had left him with and kept it. He pondered it, sucked on it like a candy, tasting it until it became a small novelty that he thought had faded away. But then England had sent the letter that told him to burn the White House, and he found that the cruelty hadn't faded; it had just sunk in, became a part of him. He was sure it would stay with him forever. And the cruelty had leaked through the cracks, infected Canada, and the land. His people were better fighters; not ruthless but hardened.

"Stop, Mattie, please... I know this isn't you..." Canada seems surprised.

"You can still talk?" He asks, incredulous. "I'm impressed. But you'd always dealt with the heat better than I have." America sobs harder, because behind the Canada he can see his people running away, abandoning him. Why wasn't anyone coming to get him? To save him?

_No one will find you because no one cares._ His own words echo in his mind.

"Are you sorry? Do you wish you had put out the flames, apologized? I burned just like you are now." Canada's curly hair flies ghoulishly, framing his face, and America is horrified to see liquid poison in his twin's eyes, but like ice. Cold. Unforgiving. Untrusting.

Dead. A ghost of his brother stood before him, and Al was suddenly afraid of the monsters Arthur use to tell weren't there. But there was one standing before him, mouth turned upward in a twisted smile, but eyes empty. If the eyes were the window to the soul, what did that make his brother? A shell?

Did he do that to him? America tries to stay strong, to not appear weak, but Alfred burst through, screeching. "Mattie! We're brothers! Please, I'm sorry!" Matthew smiles, wickedly charming in his revenge.

"Oh, Alfred..." He coos, using his full name, "is that supposed to help? To make me put out the flames? Family?" He laughs coldly, steel where his heart should have been. "Don't make me laugh." He hisses. "I begged and I apologized. I tried to reach anything human in you; anything that would make you stop. But you didn't." His voice is no louder than normal, but the force behind it reminds Al of empires, rising and falling. "You left me because you're selfish and prideful, not because I betrayed you. You've always known my worst fear and you used it against me."

He takes out a match and twirls it between his knuckles, something Al taught him. "I wonder if you would be so lucid if I literally set you on fire?" He muses, and stands. Al can see beyond him, the flames spreading, and he convulses, shaking, weeping into the ground

"NO!" Alfred howls, begging for mercy. Matthew ignores him, opting to lean on a burning tree. The flames try to bite, him to take him a second time, but frost covers the bark and climbs up, encompassing the tree in a coffin of ice. Small icicles form on the branches, and Matthew reaches for one, breaks it off, and chews on it. He is, after all, unused to the heat.

"Y'know," He say, munching,"I thought about what you told me. About our shitty family and all, and I realized that even though you're a heartless bastard, you had a point." The match continues to fly around his fingers, effortlessly graceful. "France and England are both greedy, just like you, although they're smarter about it. I finally figured it out; the reason France abandoned me, why England ignores me, and why I couldn't appeal to anything human in you, is because Nations aren't human! We're made to last, to stand forever, and to do that you can't depend on anyone else." He shakes his head in disappointment.

"I can't depend on others, but others can depend on me. I'm going to break the cycle, Al. Treat my new family right." Dark figures run to them and Alfred wants to cry in relief. His people! They came back for him!

But instead of his President, he sees two children, a boy and a girl, one with deep hazel-gold eyes and shaggy brown hair, the other with deep blue eyes and curly blond hair. They're both covered with ash and soot, both have freckles, and both grasp each others hands, smiling widely. Alfred sees a mockery of his childhood.

The boy speaks up. "Matthew, who's that? Why won't you come play with us? You can freeze the fire, right? I need you to teach me, 'cause Marcy can't do it at all." Matthew's eyes are no longer dead, but warm and bright as he kneels to hugs the small children. They let go of each others hand, each deciding to hold one of Matthew's.

"Alfred, I'd like for you to meet Ontario and Quebec. Or, Thomas and Marcelle. My new family." Marcelle, the blond, peers at him, unimpressed.

"You two look alike. Is he your brother, Papa?" There's a hint of jealousy in Quebec's voice and Alfred is speechless. New family? Did Matthew discover some new land? Not only that, but these kids could look at a man, a fellow Nation, burning alive and be indifferent?

Matthew is silent for a long time. "No," He finally says, "You two are my family." He starts to tickle the children and they laugh, squirming, faces flushed with pleasure as the flames eat Alfred from the inside out.

Matthew drops the match and Ontario picks it up, curious. "Matt, were you gonna do something with this? 'Cause these make fire, right?" The boy's eyes gleam, like Matthew's. Matthew himself is stone faced as he takes the match and considers it, occasionally glancing back at Alfred.

He throws the wooden stick into the flames and barely any of his White House is left. Alfred starts begging again as Matthew takes his new family, hand in hand, away from his burning twin.

"Mattie... Please... Make it stop..." Matthew stops, glancing over his shoulder, indigo orbs glowing through the smoke.

"You left my heart to burn, so I'm leaving yours to break."

It was only then that Alfred and America alike begin crying in earnest.


End file.
